


Any True Direction

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Series: Directionless [7]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Community: kink_bingo, Directedverse, F/M, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-13
Updated: 2010-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chase doesn't know what he wants, but he knows he's good at failing to live up to everyone's expectations. BDSM AU, written for the "penance/punishment" prompt for kink_bingo 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any True Direction

Rob'd had the itchy feeling behind his eyes all day, the feeling that he was just about ready to fuck everything up again. It was almost like a pressure, like being beholden to someone else was just one more fucking thing that he was terrible at and going to ruin any moment now, so why not just get it out of the way? It was the same feeling he eventually got in all his relationships, which wound up with him out on his ass or throwing an over-committed sub out of his apartment. Too much to deal with. Time to move on.

That feeling was the reason why he brought up Dr. Wilson to Alexis. Stood there waiting after he said it (yeah, I fucked him--a couple weeks ago, didn't bring it up) for her to square her shoulders and tell him to hand over her manacles and _get out,_ that she hadn't signed up for this even knowing she was going to date a switch--or even yell that she _should have known,_ that of course he couldn't keep it in his pants, everyone knew that switches were all sluts who couldn't sub _properly_ and you shouldn't expect them to keep up a _relationship_\--

She'd been staring at him for far too long, angry but very quiet. He stood up straighter, ready--preparing to laugh it off, to let it roll off his back like it always did.

"What the fuck," Alexis said, softly but firmly.

Rob took a breath, tried to laugh, wound up just sort of breathing out a pained kind of chuckle. "Yeah, I dunno," he said. "Sounded like a good idea at the time."

She closed her eyes and he was about to reach for the latches on the cuffs when she snapped, "Go stand over the bench."

He froze. She opened her eyes and scowled. "Are you planning on safewording out?"

Rob guiltily snatched his hand away from the cuff. "I--"

"Then go stand over the bench before I have to tell you again."

They'd met at a party. Hit it off immediately. Hooked up on Saturday. She'd given him the cuffs on Sunday.

They both liked teasing; he liked pain, she liked giving it, he liked a certain amount of bondage, she liked chaining him up. They were good together. She liked pushing him into subspace and he liked how she could move him there. But they'd only ever used her punishment bench for fantasy scenarios, scenes, straight-up sensation work. He didn't even think she wanted the kind of--

In a second he was standing next to the bench--a padded surface which was just a little too high to rest on when he bent over it, which meant when he lay down his toes would be barely touching the ground. He could feel it when Alexis came up behind him, stood watching him.

"Well?" she asked.

He took a breath, then another, confused and nervous. Then he started taking his shirt off.

Rob laid his shirt down on the floor, then toed his shoes off and unbuckled his belt. When he'd got his pants off, he glanced at Alexis. No expression. He took a deep breath and slipped off his underwear as well.

"Lie down," she ordered.

He gingerly stretched out on the bench top. The leather cover stuck to his skin as he settled himself and he shivered.

Alexis reached out and tapped the manacle around his left wrist, making the hardware jingle. "What do you think this means?"

He swallowed. "Uh. I--that I should've talked with you? First? That I shouldn't've... shouldn't've done anything without your permission."

"Right," she said thoughtfully. "So you do know."

He swallowed, suddenly terrified. _Fuck, you're going to throw me out. Fuck, you're going to punish me and then decide I'm not worth it. Fuck. I fucked this up and I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have and I'm completely worthless and you're going to decide I'm not worth_\--

She reached out and snapped his left wrist to the corner of the bench, then his right. "What do you think?" she said.

He was having trouble breathing. He was having trouble _thinking._ "I--uh--"

She didn't say anything, just left him lying there panting. The next thing he registered was her dragging a flogger over his back--the heavy leather one, a serious thud instrument. "I'll stop when I think you're ready," she said, and then raised it away again.

The first strike caught him right on his arse, solid smack and the burn of the tips of the leather strips along one side of the impact. The second followed closely on the other cheek, and the third and fourth hit already-burning skin. He hissed at the pain but didn't cry out.

The fifth caught him on his back, and he yelled.

"Does that hurt?" Alexis asked, then struck his back again.

It had been more surprise than pain, the first time, but dammit it did hurt. "Ahhh..."

Again, slightly higher, and then another on his arse, on the side, and then he stopped keeping track as the stinging, pounding blows continued falling across his shoulder blades and down his legs. Every time she paused to breathe or rest or just make him wait he squirmed, smarting as his skin warmed and tingled, only to scream as she started up again, sometimes twice in the same spot, until everything hurt and he realized he was tearing up behind closed eyes and sobbing "Please, please," on every breath.

The flogger lifted away from his back again. "Please _what?_" Alexis said.

"Please don't stop," he said, and he meant it, oh fuck he meant it, because if she stopped it meant she didn't think he was worth it, if she stopped she was giving up on punishing him for how fucking stupid he'd been and how fucking stupid he was and she was just going to let him go--

The cane was a diagonal line of _fire_ across his arse and he grabbed at any handhold he could and screamed.

"Count," Alexis ordered. "I want you to focus. Count."

"One," one was something to hold on to, a solid round handhold in the ocean of searing pain, one was a pin sunk deep into the bench that he could curl his fingers around, one he needed to focus, one he was going to--the second stroke caught the back of his thighs, cutting hot and deep, and he yelled "Two!"

Three was lower on his thighs. Four was across his calves, five was down almost on his ankles, that burned like fuck, and fuck he didn't remember six or seven or eight, they blurred together until he just felt pain and yelled the next number, and when he got to nine he stuttered and said it twice and she slammed the cane again on his arse and said, "What?"

"Ten! I'm sorry, ten," and he was blinking water out of his eyes and trying to breathe and he couldn't.

Someone was brushing his hair back with gentle but strong fingers. After a moment Alexis wiped at his cheeks and his nose with a kleenex. He sniffled until he could sort of breathe again.

"Here," she said, and then there was a straw at his mouth; he sipped and tasted lemonade--electrolytes. After a couple swallows he felt almost up to talking.

"Well?" she asked.

He licked his lips. "Please."

She didn't say anything to that. When he looked up she was staring at him. "Red, yellow, green?" she said.

"Green," he croaked, then swallowed. "Green."

She nodded, then stood and moved out of his vision again.

His legs were on fire. His skin was prickling all over with heat, and the stinging had faded into the itching ache that threatened to break out in sharp edges if touched. Something brushed feather-light against the small of his back and he shivered, wincing as he suddenly recognized what it was. Signal whip.

"Ahh--"

"Count," she said, "from one." And then pain exploded across his back.

Oh, fuck, she was good with this, she was really good with this, and she was laying him open and he could almost not bear it, he always felt like she was stripping him to the bone when she did this, and he called out "One" like he was dying or being reborn.

He had nine more strokes to go before she finally let him rest.

Rob didn't remember being unhooked from the bench or carried to the sofa. Alexis gave him the straw for the lemonade, and sat down next to him stroking his hair.

"When we got together..." she said, and then looked down at him and sighed. "I didn't think--I wasn't sure you wanted this."

He sniffed and buried his face in her leg again. She rubbed the back of his neck and sighed again. "Look, Rob... do you want to leave?"

"No!" He looked up, shocked, frightened. "Don't--"

"Shh," she said, stroking his hair again. "No, of course, I'm not, I just... I didn't think you wanted..." she trailed off, then said softly, "I don't even have a collar on you, y'know? It's just..."

"I don't wanna fuck it up," he said.

Alexis' hand stilled, then came to rest on his neck. "If you want," she said carefully, "I won't let you."

He didn't trust himself to speak. He buried his face against her leg, and almost dared to hope.


End file.
